


Entire of Myself.

by WhatWldMrsWeasleyDo



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 19:12:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1439644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatWldMrsWeasleyDo/pseuds/WhatWldMrsWeasleyDo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kay is an island. He has no family, no cultural influences or allegiances. He just has a job as a policeman and a taste for anonymous sexual encounters with men. Investigating the murder of the owner of a gay strip club might change things, and so might someone he meets after dark in the bushes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Entire of Myself.

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the [](http://originalbigbang.livejournal.com/profile)[**originalbigbang**](http://originalbigbang.livejournal.com/) , the big bang for fanficcers to write their own original fiction. I am _extremely_ grateful to the mods for running this big bang. Thanks, [](http://dwg.livejournal.com/profile)[**dwg**](http://dwg.livejournal.com/) and [](http://wtfbrain.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://wtfbrain.livejournal.com/)**wtfbrain**.
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks so much to [](http://wtfbrain.livejournal.com/profile)[**wtfbrain**](http://wtfbrain.livejournal.com/)   and [](http://deathjunke.livejournal.com/profile)[ **deathjunke**](http://deathjunke.livejournal.com/)   for stepping in at the eleventh hour to produce bonus material for this story. I really love the mix [](http://wtfbrain.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://wtfbrain.livejournal.com/) **wtfbrain**  's done. Please give it a listen, it matches what I wanted this story to say really well. Also, check out the drawing of the dirty boys. Just perfect. Then leave them some nice comments. Thanks.  
> Thanks to [](http://emansil-08.livejournal.com/profile)[**emansil_08**](http://emansil-08.livejournal.com/) , [](http://songquake.livejournal.com/profile)[**songquake**](http://songquake.livejournal.com/) and [](http://nicola07.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://nicola07.livejournal.com/)**nicola07** for the beta work and suggestions. All remaining mistakes are my own and I will be grateful to anyone who spots them and points them out to me. Also thanks to FB, my legal adviser, for explaining the British legal system and PACE To me. I know it's still not all completely accurate but it's a lot better than it was.
> 
>  
> 
> **Bonus content which accompanies this story:**
> 
>  
> 
>  **Art:** [ Kay and Stuart in the park. NSFW. ](http://wwmrsweasleydo.livejournal.com/89991.html) by [](http://deathjunke.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://deathjunke.livejournal.com/)**deathjunke**
> 
>  **Mix:** [Love's Not a Competition (but I'm winning)](http://wtfbrain.livejournal.com/1366189.html) by [](http://wtfbrain.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://wtfbrain.livejournal.com/)**wtfbrain**

ENTIRE OF MYSELF

  


  
_No man is an island entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away_  
 _by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were; any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and_  
 _therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee._  
from John Donne's MEDITATION XVII

_I am an island_  
 _Entire of myself_  
from the Boomtown Rats' LOOKING AFTER NUMBER ONE

}0{

It could have been any time of day in the windowless room. The dark-skinned policeman kept checking his watch. They had been in here for hours. The other one – fatter, older, whiter – tapped his fingertips on the tape recorder impatiently. The only light came from a florescent tube running almost the length of the low-ceilinged room. The walls were the colour of spat-out chewing gum; the skin of the younger one was nice to look at though: brown like coffee cake and smooth as butter cream.

The suspect – young, tanned, blond - leaned further back in his chair.

"Where did you say you worked again?" the fat middle-aged one asked with a sneer.

" _The Scarlet Panther_. Why don't you write that down this time then maybe you'd find it easier to remember?"

" _The Scarlet Panther_. Which is in the big city because there are enough -" the white police man glanced over at the solicitor "- clients there to keep a business like that going."

She gave him a warning look, which he ignored, leaning forward, his stare steady. "Why couldn't you have done him in over there, instead of bringing him home to bludgeon? Let those fancy city police deal with it?"

"This is inappropriate," said the solicitor. "The presumption is innocence. My client has consistently denied the charge."

The suspect glared right back at him: "I've been set up! I never done it!"

"You are being confrontational. Don't make me report this." Her tone was professional, almost bored. She looked pointedly at the number on his uniform and wrote it down as she added, "Sergeant Dennis Krill."

The tension was broken by the other cop, who had pushed his chair a few inches back from the desk and was reading his little black notebook. "We just want to clear things up, Matthew. We want to help. To sort things out. You've got to admit that it doesn't look good."

"It's Matt. Please. Nobody calls me Matthew." His voice took on a soft purr. He looked right into the officer's dark brown eyes, then dropped his gaze – just slightly – to his full-lipped mouth. Very slowly and deliberately, Matt's tongue tip appeared between his lips and he swiped it sideways.

The younger policeman looked away and crossed his legs.

Krill took over again. "So, this blood-soaked corpse just happens to be at the bottom of the stairs up to your flat --"

"How many times?" Matt interrupted in a flat monotone. "It's 'cos they're setting me up."

"What exactly was your relationship with the deceased?" asked the young one. He shuffled some notes like he couldn't remember the answer. He wasn't looking at Matt.

"He was my boss."

"At the ...?"

" _Scarlet Panther_."

"He was the manager?"

"No, the owner."

"Right, right." The cop with the coffee cake skin nodded, almost apologetically, as if he really had forgotten. He put down the sheets of paper and looked right into Matt's face, with his fingers steepled and his head tipped to one side. "Sorry to keep going over this, but could you just explain to me again the precise nature of your work there?" He smiled an encouraging, friendly smile. "Just so that we can be sure that we've got this quite right."

Matt looked right back at him – a little defensive, maybe, but without a trace of embarrassment. "I mostly work in the peep show area. I'm an erotic performer."

"You mean stripper?" sneered Dennis.

Matt shrugged.

"You know what he means," the solicitor said with a sigh.

The Asian looked at the notes. "You're twenty five?" he asked, clearly surprised. He looked right into Matt's face. Matt looked back through lowered lids and moved slightly, provocatively; the cop looked away. "Nearing retirement in that game, I would have thought. Any plans for what you'll do when you're too old?"

"The flier we picked up," said Dennis, "says 'sex shows'. Is that what you actually do? Have sex while some dirty old men watch you?"

The solicitor looked like she might be about to say something. Matt beat her to it: "It means it's sexual. It would be illegal if we had intercourse."

"But is it just you involved in the performance?" He had taken over completely, his younger colleague was checking through the notes again. "Or are there two of you in there?"

Matt just gifted them all with a bored sigh. "Sometimes. But we don't touch each other. I've done the cabaret stripping some nights, too."

The younger one looked up from his notes just as Matt leaned back and rubbed his hands along his thighs. He looked away again. Matt smirked. "Mostly I do solos," he purred, "or use props."

The young, Asian cop shot to his feet. "Think we could all do with a break," he muttered and left the room, his file held over his groin.

The other one said a few things for the benefit of the tape, a few more to the lawyer, took out the tape and sealed it up, before following him out.

The door shut. "You want a cup of tea, Kay?" Dennis asked.

"Just need a breather."

"He getting to you?"

"No!" Kay snapped. "Little bastard," he muttered under his breath.

"He's only having a laugh with you." The big guy's face had lost the hard lines it had taken on in the interview room.

"Fuck off Dennis! Why's he winding me up like that?"

Dennis shrugged. "'Cos you're reacting. You fancy him?"

Kay pulled a disgusted face; it wasn't convincing.

"So what do you reckon?" Dennis asked. "I think he's probably been set up."

"You are joking! He's a lying little toe-rag."

"I don't know. Not a murderer. He doesn't strike me as the sort."

"Not all poofy types are as nice as me you know."

Dennis laughed. "It makes sense," he added more soberly. "Why would he do the bloke in at his own flat? Why not somewhere in the city, where there are plenty of other potential suspects around?"

"Because he's thick as well as evil?"

"He doesn't strike me as stupid."

"No, 'cos all geniuses have to get their kit off for a living!"

"Chloe wants you to come over for Sunday dinner."

"She's too nice to me, your missus."

"You'll come then?"

"I'll only scare your kiddies again. Anyway, I think we're working, aren't we?"

"After shift."

"I'm not decent company after a shift. Tell Chloe I'll miss her roast spuds, but you're better off without me. Shall we go back in?"

}0{

It was late when Kay left the station, close to midnight and cooling. It wasn't cold; they day had been warmer, though, maybe even hot. Kay couldn't be sure because he'd been in that interview room for most of it.

He thought about going home, but he was too wound up to sleep, too turned on to get over it with porn, too. He shouldn't have let that cheeky stripper get to him. He'd known exactly what he was doing. If he thought those little moves were going to buy him an easy ride, though, he was wrong. Kay was furious: mostly with himself, but with that little scrote, too, and with management. This job features a gay strip bar, so they give the case to their token poof. What made them think that was a good idea? Stupid one-horse town. He needed to go somewhere, meet someone, release all this. But he couldn't go to the _Scarlet Panther_ now, not while he was on this case. It wasn't a Thursday, so that only left him one option.

He'd lose his job if he was ever caught; he thought about that every time he headed out to the park. Tonight the sky was cloudless and there was starlight to see by. He strolled past the kiddie play equipment, where a couple of teenaged girls were sitting on the swings, sharing a bottle of cider. He rounded the pond, got himself behind the keeper's shed and then up the slope, his hands in his pockets, to where the trees grew close together.

There were little signs of movement as he walked past, but most of the men were occupied with each other. The few who weren't didn't appeal. One guy was bald and too muscled to fight off if he decided he wanted something Kay wasn't offering. Kay looked down, over the park, towards the lights of the town beyond. He thought about his own warm bed, sticking a mug of tinned soup in the microwave, surfing the net. Then he slipped back into the trees to watch the men who would inevitably pass by.

The stripper's body was on his mind. It was a good body, a young body. He was only a couple of years younger than Kay, though; Kay couldn't tell how well his own body had aged, he wished he knew how he looked to these men out in the dark foliage.

The next one to walk up the path was as obvious as a goth on an ice cap, unable to contain his nervousness, and as pretty as the boys on Kay's favourite sites. He held his hood pulled up over his hair with shaking fingers. The way he stared into the vegetation was far too indiscreet. Trouble, that was what he was. The last thing Kay needed was trouble like that. Still, he took a step forwards.

The lad's head shot round and he walked – too fast – towards him. As soon as he had eye contact, Kay stepped back into the protective darkness. He shuffled further in, round behind a bush. The youngster followed him. He looked around him, wide-eyed, still shaking.

"Here? Is this ok here?" He had a soft, sweet Scottish accent. His voice was too loud though. There were rules to these encounters; he shouldn't have said anything at all. Kay nodded and put a finger to his lips. He got his hands onto the thick, red sweatshirt material; it was baggier than he had expected and the waist he finally grabbed was too slim.

He was tall, though, at least a head taller than Kay. "Can I kiss you?" the lad asked.

Kay shook his head. He hadn't wanted to speak at all, but he had to. "First time?" he whispered.

"That obvious?"

"Not supposed to talk. And no kissing."

The lad looked down at Kay's hands at his waist. Tentatively, he pressed his palms against Kay's chest. Kay looked into his face. He was young, even younger-looking this close up. Handsome, though, with shining eyes and pale, freckled skin.

He couldn't take the chance. If he got caught out here he'd lose his job, but if he was caught with a boy who was underage he'd end up in prison, in the papers, on a register.

"How old are you?"

"Old enough!" he said quickly.

Kay would have liked to have seen some ID. It didn't seem like an appropriate request in the circumstances, though.

"I'm legal, don't worry yourself," the boy muttered.

He slid his hands down Kay's front, and got to his belt, started to work at the buckle. His breath had a tang of something alcoholic as he panted onto Kay's skin. Kay was aroused, but, really, he should walk away from this; it was too dangerous. His hands slipped round to the boy's arse - tight, tiny buttocks in his low-slung jeans. If he gave this up, what would happen then? He thought of the beefed-up bald bloke he'd seen earlier.

Kay needed to keep hold of this boy, keep him out of the clutches of men like that. It was responsible really. He bit down his groan as slim fingers scrabbled into his underwear. He shifted to make access easier and felt a cold, soft palm against his cock. There was a slight, dry rub and an uncertain squeeze and it shouldn't have felt nearly as good as it did.

He grabbed the boy by his belt buckle and unzipped his fly. The lad threw back his blond head and swore too loudly; it was a gratifyingly throaty, uncontrolled oath.

Kay swiftly took hold of the boy's cock and expertly gathered some of the pre-come on its head, before using it for lubrication to stroke the loose skin of his foreskin up and then down. Judging by the noises the youngster was making and by the fact that his own hand had stopped moving, he wasn't going to last long.

Letting go of the belt for a moment, Kay nudged a little reminder onto the bulge in his own groin. The reaction was immediate: smooth strokes which kept time with, and sometimes mirrored the movements of, his own.

He was close to climax when the movement stopped and the boy whined out a choked noise, before panting heavily as hot fluid coated Kay's hand. His head fell onto Kay's shoulder for a moment. Kay didn't have a moment to give him for his recovery; he was too close to climax and too worried about being discovered. He jerked his pelvis rhythmically into the loosening grip.

After a couple of thrusts, the lad remembered what he was supposed to be doing and got on with the job. He was no expert so Kay couldn't understand quite how intensely he orgasmed.

"It's not safe out here." Kay stepped back as the boy made himself decent. "You shouldn't be here," he whispered.

"So where, then?"

Kay reached around in the inside pocket of his jacket. There were a couple of sugar packets in there, he was sure, he'd picked them up in the pub.

He handed one over and got a confused look in reply. "Thursday nights at this place, the _Royal Crown_. They have a gay night. Bit safer."

The boy brought the white paper packet up to his eye level, but it was too dark to read the details printed on it. "Ta," he mumbled.

"But not here, not again. Right? You don't know what's out here."

"Wolves, maybe?" He pulled his red hood back up with a one-sided grin.

"Worse than wolves." Kay slipped away, round a couple of trees, didn't look behind him. He wove back to the park. He walked home.

}0{

Matt Campbell was gorgeous, even after a night in the cells. His hair was getting dirty, but it was still thick and fell in an attractive, golden sweep over his forehead. The whites of his eyes were dulling – a bit grey, a bit yellow, a bit red – but the bright blue irises made up for that. Kay had thought they must be tinted contact lenses when he'd seen him perform. Not the first time, he hadn't had a chance to think about Matt's eyes the first time; he'd been blown away by his body. He hadn't had a name for him then, hadn't known he was Matt, had only known the glorious lines of his shape.

Dressed in tight jeans and a flimsy T-shirt, that form was clear in the interview room. He knew how to present it, too. Of course he did, that was his job. His legs weren't long, but he stretched them out in front of himself, displaying their shape: tight, toned thigh muscles. The way he sat thrust his groin into view, too. The jeans were tight enough to slope a caress over his package, then flow up in a delicious curve to his flat stomach.

He draped his bare, tanned arms along the lines of his torso, down his sculpted sides, to rest one hand on the desk. He clearly worked out. A lot. But he didn't bulk up, he just had the most beautiful body shape that Kay had ever seen. He was a professional, he knew his market. This time Kay wasn't going to let any of it distract him. He was professional, too. One glance took in all the detail and then he determined to ignore it.

"My client has been held for over twenty one hours now. Is there any new evidence or are you ready to release him?"

He started at the solicitor's voice. He hadn't noticed that she was in the room.

"We've got a few more questions," Dennis growled in his low, grounding voice. It had a soothing edge to it. Shit! That meant he'd noticed Kay's reaction.

Kay sat and got his eyes on the paperwork, busied himself with shuffling – not that he needed to get onto the right page, he and Dennis already knew what it said and they weren't about to show it to the suspect.

"We've got just over two hours, Mr Campbell. Do you think that in that time you can manage to give us a clear idea of your movements on the night in question?" Dennis asked.

"Are you going to let my client go?" the woman asked.

Although he was trying not to look, a movement caught Kay's eye. Matt was sitting up, adjusting that sculpted body, leaning closer to Kay. He wasn't lazily flirting any more, though; he looked concerned.

"There are still a few facts which we need him to --" Dennis began.

"I did it!"

The three of them looked at Matt in shock. He was sitting bolt upright now. His eyes were flicking around and he was chewing at his plump, shapely, lower lip.

Dennis recovered first: "Did what, Matthew?"

"I killed him," the young man said breathlessly. "I want to make a confession."

He was looking at Dennis, but when the policeman's face sank into lines of doubt, he turned to Kay instead. Kay began to wish that he was still concentrating on the typed sheets on the desk between them.

Matt's bright, clear blue eyes looked right into his. "Let me tell you how I did it; I'll tell you everything."

}0{

He'd been expecting this, was even quite impressed with Dennis that it had taken him this long to ask it.

"You ever been to that club then?"

"'Cos all poofs are perverts?"

"You wouldn't be that defensive unless you had."

Kay went back to typing up his notes. "Yeah, all right, I have," he admitted, staring at the screen and avoiding his partner's kindly face. "So what?"

Campbell's solicitor was furious with him. Kay and Dennis had to wait around, typing things up, while she had a private meeting with her client.

"You seen his actual, erm, performance, then?"

Kay squirmed a bit. He'd kept getting flashbacks when they were in the interview room, his mind removing Matt's clothes and replacing them with baby oil. He shrugged.

"Would he know that? Can they see who's watching them?"

"I wouldn't have thought so. There's these little booths with like a letterbox thing cut into it to watch through. No, he couldn't know. So what's it matter? You're not going to put that in your report are you?" He looked over at the other man's screen in alarm.

"No, I was just wondering about his hair."

"Hair?"

"I'm not sure that blond he's got is natural. Just wondering whether, you know, it all matched up. Might help with sending out descriptions if we knew his natural hair colour."

Kay moved closer to his own computer, his mortified gaze only on the words he'd just typed in, not actually seeing them. "Don't know," he muttered. He swallowed, and in a rough hiss he managed: "He waxes."

Dennis' eyebrows shot up. "All of it ...?" he began, but then he looked at his colleague 's reaction and decided to spare him.

Kay realised that he'd read the same sentence back three times and he still wasn't sure what it said, couldn't think what came next. His neck muscles buzzed tightly and he tried to rub at them, rolled his head to loosen them; it didn't help.

Dennis was so nice, so normal, so grounded and his good opinion meant a lot to Kay. He didn't want his partner to know what he did in darkened rooms with his hand down his pants. He felt sick. It wasn't that he thought it was wrong – or even that he thought Dennis would – but he didn't want to think about the sleaze while he was here in this light room with this conventional man. He stood up. "Get you anything from the canteen?"

Dennis didn't look at him, just kept on typing with two of his huge fingers which looked too big for the keyboard.

"Wouldn't mind a cookie if they've got them."

Kay rotated his shoulders as he left the room. The tension didn't ease. He thought about Matt – oiled up and naked under the spotlight, and dressed on the interview room chair. Then he thought about that boy last night: his eyes, his cock, the dark of the trees. The canteen was busy when he got there, thankfully. It was noisy with voices and kitchen clatter. He had to concentrate on manoeuvring his way into the queue, picking out a dry tray, looking for cookies.

"You got any of those giant cookies today?" he shouted over the counter to a girl who was lifting plates out of the dishwasher.

The air was full of the smell of hot, cheap vegetable oil. His memory of the scents of leaves and sweat from the night before receded.

No cookies, so he stuck a muffin on his tray with his own cup of tea and bacon sandwich. There was a prolonged fuss around sorting out his change and another involving brown sauce. By the time he sat down, he felt a lot more settled. He sat on his own near the window and looked down at the car park. His red Corsa was still there; not that he'd thought it wouldn't be, but it was a reassurance to see it.

"You shouldn't be eating that."

Kay looked round to see PC Ali plonking his tray down and sitting opposite him. _Here we go again!_ he thought.

"I'm not Muslim, Yussuf. I can eat as much pig as I want."

"Ah, but I think you are. You have an Islamic face."

"I don't even want to think about what that means."

Yussuf pointed his spoon at him. "It means that your parents were Muslims. It's not too late to join the faith, you know."

"My parents are a phone box, a cardboard box and a Children's Home --"

"-- I know, I know, but --"

"-- I'm an atheist, I don't care what my biological parents were or weren't. I never met them, they never indoctrinated me! I don't even know if they were Asian."

"Look in a mirror!"

"Could be some sort of half-caste, or something."

Nazrin Khan walked over, carrying a bottle of cold water. It looked tempting. Kay grinned at her.

"Just come along to the Mosque, give it a try. Just once," Yussuf was saying.

"He trying to convert you again?" Nazrin asked.

"Same old same old."

Yussuf shook his head and took a sip of his orange juice. "It's not a conversion, he's already Muslim."

"Looks like a Sikh to me!" Nazrin teased, sitting down with them. "He's got a proper nose."

"You don't want to go to heaven?" Yussuf tried to ignore Nazrin.

"I don't want," Kay lowered his voice, "to stop eating bacon, getting pissed and buggering young men."

Yussuf's colour rose with embarrassment, his eyes widened. Nazrin released a shocked laugh. There was a pause while the other two collected themselves. Kay looked around at all the white faces in the room and wondered, yet again, why the three of them seemed to feel drawn to each other, relaxed with each other in spite of all their differences.

"Must be weird," Nazrin said finally. "No culture. I can't imagine it."

"No family," Yussuf said with sympathy, shaking his head.

"I am an island," Kay replied, "entire of myself."

"You never think about looking for your parents?" Nazrin asked.

Kay shrugged. "Where would I start? Nobody left a note with me or anything, the clothes I was in were standard hospital issue. Don't think I would if I could, though. I am who I am, a mixture of my genes and some Local Authority care. That'll do me."

"And very nice you turned out, too," she said decisively. Kay wasn't so sure. He smiled, though.

When he got back to their office, Dennis was staring into space. Three of the younger guys on the other side of the room were collating data about a local gang dealing drugs, shouting out to each other, spreading paperwork on desks.

"That's not a cookie."

"There's a national chocolate chip crisis."

"Really?"

"No. I made that up. If you don't want it ..." He waved the cake over the bin.

"Never said that." Dennis looked at his screen. "I've had enough of paperwork."

"You want to see if he's ready to be interviewed again?"

In the end, Matt Campbell gave them very little. Much of what he said didn't make much sense. Kay was starting to wonder if he was on drugs. He didn't look like he was withdrawing, though, and how would he have got hold of anything from inside the police station?

There were ways.

He would pause for a long time, then say something like, "This is difficult. I don't know how to say this."

Dennis had been really wound up this time, not just playing 'nasty cop', he'd had to keep a lid on his temper.

"Look, I'll explain how it works," Matt had conceded in the end.

"Just tell us about the night in question," Dennis had growled.

But Campbell hadn't done that. Instead he'd spent nearly two hours delineating the nasty world in which he worked: the gangland connections, the drugs, the violence. He had some horrific tales of coercion and corruption. It was all very useful; none of it had anything to do with the murder to which he had confessed.

Campbell had nothing useful to tell them; he was just stringing them along. He didn't know the details of the killing. By the time Dennis finished the paperwork to let him go, the stripper was practically begging them to let him stay.

"We have to work on the evidence, son," Dennis said, almost sympathetically. "Maybe if you explained why you're so keen to keep sleeping in a cell?"

Matt Campbell reared back at that and shut up. After a pause he said, "I hate it here. I could do with some fresh air. I'd just hate to see a miscarriage of justice."

}0{

"I want to get out of the station. Don't seem to be getting anywhere."

"Nothing in the new forensics report?"

Dennis shrugged and handed over the file.

"Reddish mud," Kay commented.

"Most of the East side of town."

"Traces of sewerage."

"There was a leak a couple of weeks back, wasn't there?"

"Cannabis resin under his fingernails. University's that side of town, isn't it?"

"It's not only students who smoke dope." Dennis leant back in his chair.

"We've got nothing else to go on, we might as well take a trip over there."

They wandered round campus, spoke to couple of official types, learnt nothing. At least they got out of the station. They'd taken the Corsa, and parked near to the Residences with an official police permit on the dashboard. That was one of the few perks of the job: parking wherever you liked. When they got back to the car, there was a crowd of students round it, looking in the windscreen, murmuring.

They moved back as Kay and Dennis approached. They watched the two men curiously. None of them asked anything, though. They edged further away, back towards the snack bar.

"We can either go round to the stripper's flat, get a feel for the scene ..." Dennis was saying when Kay recognised one of the students.

There, near the back, standing between a rugby player and a Chinese girl, was the boy from the night before. He looked even younger than he had done in the park. His pale hair shone in the weak, wet sunlight. He was staring at Kay. At the same moment, they both realised how obvious they were being and they looked away.

So now the lad knew that Kay was in the force; and Kay knew he was a student. He couldn't be as young as he looked then, not if he was at Uni. Kay could just keep telling himself that. He was still a lot younger than Kay.

"The hospital, then?" Dennis asked.

They had reached the car. His partner was waiting for him to unlock it, expecting an intelligent answer to his question.

"It's just up this road, isn't it?" Kay managed, while he fished out his zapper.

"See if any of those narcotic traces had a legitimate source."

The hospital was just round the corner so it tied in with the reddish mud and sewerage found on the victim's shoes. Kay nodded. He was back in the game.

}0{

It was Thursday, Kay remembered as he left the station; late, but the pubs would be open for another couple of hours. Thursday: gay night at the _Royal Crown_. Kay was in two minds. He didn't go every week. He just wanted a quiet drink, just wanted to not be on his own at home. It was Thursday, though; so why not?

There was a little dance-floor near the back – where the Folk band played on a Tuesday and the quiz-master presided on a Monday. Kay didn't look over, he wasn't picking up tonight. Just a quiet drink. As he was ordering it, someone pushed in beside him. He kept his eyes on the bitter beer hitting the glass and filling it.

Then a soft Scottish voice said, "I thought maybe you'd not be coming tonight."

Blond hair, sweet grin: the student from the park was looking down into his face. Kay turned back to his pint.

"So did I," he said.

He paid for his beer.

"It's a funny wee pub, this."

"It's a crappy little town, what do you expect?" Kay still wasn't looking at him. He kept his back to the room, his eyes on his drink.

The lad ordered a lager. The barman looked him up and down and then asked for ID.

"Uh. Not on me. Is that a problem?"

"I'll get it," Kay interrupted. "And a single shot of Grouse."

"You know it's an offence to buy alcohol for someone who's underage?"

Kay felt like slamming his badge down on the bar. Of course he knew the law. The barman wasn't to know what his job was. "They're all for me," he growled instead.

While the barman had his back to them, Kay looked at the young man, looked right into his face and asked, "Just how young are you?"

"I'm old enough!" the boy insisted defensively.

"That's what you said in the park. How old's 'old enough'?"

"I'm seventeen. And a half. Old enough to fuck, but not old enough to buy drink."

"How come you're at the Uni then?" No point in pretending they hadn't seen each other there.

"'Cos I'm Scottish. We finish school a year earlier."

"And you get your fees paid if you study in Scotland, so why are you --?" he stopped himself. He didn't really want to know. He didn't want to be asking this lad personal questions. "Forget it," he muttered and paid for the drinks – knocking back the whisky and pushing the lager across the bar.

The lad just stared into the bubbly liquid. "Do you dance?" he asked.

"Sometimes. Not tonight. Not with you."

"I was thinking maybe we could --"

"No. Look son, it was a one-off. That's what I do. We do anything tonight and it's like –." Like a relationship. "Once and done. Got it?" Kay was an island, entire of himself.

"Right." The boy was red in the face, gazing down at the floor.

Kay stopped looking at him, turned round to face the rest of the people in the pub. He nursed his drink. "You're too young for me anyway."

There was a scraping sound, the sound of a full glass being moved along a wooden bar. "Have it back. I wouldn't want to have you breaking the law, after all. Not in your job." He took a step backwards. "I've not touched it."

Then Kay tried not to watch as the slim, tall body made its way through the pub, weaving around tables. He was a teenager. He'd heard enough horror stories from Campbell tonight about older men taking advantage of young lads, to put him off sex for good. He didn't intend to become one of them. Kay didn't want to get to know anyone. Just a quiet drink, then home on his own. Twice in a week? He couldn't cop off with the same bloke twice in one week.

The dance floor was suddenly crowded. A dozen middle-aged men - thick of waist, thin of hair - had left their seats. They were circling round the tall, blond lad gyrating to the R 'n' B. He looked up and grinned at one, then turned his head and smirked at another. He was revelling in the attention. He ran his fingers down his chest and the collective gasp was almost audible.

Well let him. If he liked being ogled, then he might as well enjoy himself. Not that Kay trusted a single one of those older blokes. Half of them were probably married. Not his funeral, though. He sipped his beer. Then the young Scot shot a glance at him, checked he was watching, just before he backed onto a bulky man in his forties, who ran a meaty hand up the tight denim over his thigh.

Kay was walking away from the bar before he knew what he was doing. If that bloke turned nasty there was nothing the lad could have done to defend himself. It wasn't jealousy. He didn't care. It was his job, that was all. The boy needed protecting from himself. He had no idea how bad things could get.

The white glint of the blond's grin was a little too triumphant when he saw Kay approaching, but Kay continued, strode onto the dance-floor, pushed his way between the boy and the big bloke who was now groping his arse.

The next track was a slow one. He started to back away when it began, but the vultures moved closer, so instead he put a hand on a slim waist, another on a shoulder and pressed tight to the young body as they shuffled round in time to the music. Just to protect him, of course.

"I'd invite you back to the Halls," breathed a soft Scottish voice into his ear. "Only I'm not Out there yet."

Kay was going to put him in a taxi, this wasn't going to go any further. Well – he felt the hard bulge pressing into his stomach – maybe a quick hand job in the loos first. He wasn't going to let a teenaged boy into his home. Not a lad he'd shagged before. Not twice in one week.

"My place is walking distance," he found himself murmuring.

}0{

In the middle of the night, Kay's mobile phone rang. He tried to reach for it, but there was something in the way. He tried to roll over. What could be in his bed in the middle of the night? It snuffled. Not a body, a person. No. He never let them stay.

As he sat up and the light from its display showed him where his phone was, he remembered. The Scottish student. He was still here?

"DS Devizes," he croaked. A soft hand wriggled on his thigh.

"Look, Kay, I'm sorry to wake you and I know it's not really your call." Nazrin's voice pulled his mind away from the warmth of naked flesh pressed against him. "This is unofficial, only we've got an incident at _The Scarlet Panther_ , just thought you'd like to know."

"Thanks." The link to the case was like caffeine to his bloodstream. "What sort of thing?"

"Don't know yet. Violence of some sort. There might be no connection."

He shook his head free of sleep. "I'll get over there. Thanks Naz."

He ought to shower, he thought, as he slid away from his bed full of sleeping body. In the car he realised that he should probably have left a note or something, too.

}0{

A bouncer checked his ID and directed him to an office at the back. Two uniformed PCs were already in there, along with another of the door staff, a man in a suit and someone with towel over his head. They all looked up as he walked in.

"We've got this, Sarge," one of the uniforms started, a little resentfully.

At the same moment the red-faced, soft-fleshed suit jumped to his feet and started into a slurred rant about how he didn't need a _fucking_ lawyer because he hadn't _fucking_ done anything and no-one was going to _fucking_ arrest him for _shit_! Kay couldn't be bothered introducing himself, explaining that just because he was Asian and involved, that didn't mean he was a solicitor. He was too busy staring at the face which peered out from under the towel.

There wasn't a lot of face left; he couldn't even gauge if it was one he might have seen before. It was all bruises and blood and broken teeth. Kay was transfixed by the broken blood-vessels reddening the white of one of his eyes. The lad looked away from his intense gaze – pulling the towel further down over his mangled features, which made it slip up to reveal a serious of cuts across a nicely-shaped upper arm.

"This one's a punter," the younger, skinny constable was saying, indicating the man in the suit. "He's just had a bit too much to drink, taken things out on the staff."

No link to the Campbell case, then. Nothing obvious, anyway.

"SOCO not taking photos?" Of the victim's injuries, Kay meant. He knew why not, though, before he heard the answer.

"The club's not pressing charges," said the bouncer.

Kay tried to look into the victim's face, but it wasn't possible any more.

"Too much hassle," the bouncer said. "He doesn't want the grief."

"You'll ban him, though?" Kay knew it wasn't his place to say anything.

The bouncer clearly knew that, too. "You telling me my job?" he muttered, with just an undercurrent of menace.

The ambulance came then and Kay helped the uniforms get the kid in. He was starting to think about his warm bed, now, to wonder whether it would be empty when he got back to it.

The ginger cop explained the case on the way: "He's a waiter, but they've got these skimpy costumes and the punter got the wrong idea. He turned nasty when the lad wouldn't suck him off."

"You can't get anyone to press charges?" Kay asked. It wasn't his case, wasn't any of his business, really. "Slap a D&D on him. He's drunk enough."

The constables looked doubtful. Kay looked into the dark of the ambulance.

"He's not that bothered," said the skinny one. "Can't be that surprised. It's a calculated risk, working in a place like that."

Kay turned slowly to look at him. His face was expressionless.

"Well, what does he expect?"

His partner nudged him, but the skinny cop didn't take the hint.

"Job like that," he actually sneered, "bound to get a bit rough."

"He's a waiter," Kay growled.

"He doesn't mean he deserves it, that's not what he's saying," said the ginger one hastily.

"Place like that, though, it's full of --" the skinny one broke off, suddenly remembering who he was talking to. "No offence," he finished up, lamely.

Dawn rose as Kay drove back and by the time he got into his flat, sunlight was streaming in through the window and onto the lad who was dressed and heading towards him.

"You're leaving?" Kay asked.

"You're back?" the boy countered. "Bit drastic, that: sneaking out of _your own_ place before I woke up."

"Work." It was explanation enough as far as Kay was concerned.

He was knackered, and that mangled face kept appearing behind his eyelids; he kept hearing the scorn in the constable's voice and the words he'd not quite said: "he's working in a queer bar, he should have just blown him, what's he doing getting precious all of a sudden? He's only a dirty little faggot." A bath, a sleep, some food: that's what Kay needed. He needed his home to himself.

He didn't understand the pang of disappointment he felt when the boy he'd picked up walked past him to the door, nor why he asked, "You not staying for breakfast?"

"I've got a lecture. There's a bus."

"Why don't I give you a lift? Be quicker, give you enough time to --"

"You sure? Don't want to get rid of me?"

They looked at each other, and the lad must have seen something in Kay's face, because he moved forward and slipped his slim arms round him. Kay rested his head against his shoulder and allowed himself to be hugged. It felt good. It was warm and so safe he could almost have cried. Kay couldn't remember the last time he'd been hugged – if ever.

"I'm Stuart," the lad whispered. "You never asked, but you might as well know my name."

}0{

"You shouldn't text me at work," Kay told Stuart. He couldn't stop himself from grinning. "Well, not things like that."

Stuart grinned back at him. "You're no forced to read it," he replied.

"The curiosity's more distracting than the smut."

Two and a half weeks after their first night together, he was still sending Kay dirty messages; Kay sent just as many back. Kay didn't understand what he was doing with Stuart. They were going on actual, proper dates – four of them so far, not including the nights at the _Royal Crown_ and definitely not including the hand-job in the park. This was not what he did. Yet, somehow, every time Stuart asked when he was next free as they shared breakfast, he would find himself arranging to fill his spare time with this lad who was too young and too constant, and probably too smart for him.

He was working tonight, so there wouldn't even be a chance of them sleeping together, but they'd decided to meet up for lunch. They went walking down by the canal, holding hands and sharing sandwiches which Stuart had made, and crisps and cans of pop which Kay had bought in a newsagent's. There were plastic carrier bags floating on the dark water; it was ridiculously romantic.

"What's your seminar this afternoon?" Kay asked to break the silence which was far too comfortable.

"Roman architecture and engineering."

"Oh yeah?"

"You couldn't be less interested, right?"

"I am!" Kay protested. "Tell me about it."

"Well ..." Stuart started hesitantly. "You know there's these viaducts and things like that ..."

Kay didn't understand half of what followed, and couldn't have cared less about any of it under normal circumstances, but he loved hearing that soft, deep Scottish voice enthusing and explaining. Eventually, the water made it to the Roman household, and the waterway beside them disappeared under the shopping precinct. Kay felt like Stuart had been purring all those words straight onto his cock.

Gently, he steered Stuart's lanky body back against the concrete wall and kissed him. They started with nibbling little pecks, but soon their mouths were pressed together and their groins ground against each other. Stuart's hands slid down Kay's back until his fingertips rested just under the waistband.

It was Stuart who broke the kiss as their movements got more heated. Kay heard himself whine in disappointment.

"It's a bit public," Stuart panted.

He was right, of course, and Kay couldn't believe that he'd shut down all his instincts of self-preservation. He needed to take Stuart somewhere dark and hidden, but his mind had gone blank; he couldn't remember anywhere.

Stuart took hold of his wrist and began to drag him, firmly. Kay stumbled, unaware of the direction they were taking. It didn't take long before they reached the back of a restaurant or pub – one of those places with huge, catering-sized, rubbish bins behind them.

Stuart pulled him close and kissed him hard. He was breathless. His hands clawed at Kay. Abruptly, he pulled back, shaking his head.

"No, I meant ..." Stuart dragged Kay through the slim gap between the two bins until they were hidden in the stinking dark behind them. "I want to ... I can't here ..." He dropped his college bag, and Stuart's shaking hands unbuckled Kay's belt.

Then their mouths were together: sloppy with desperation. They yanked at the fabric of each other's clothing. It was only when Stuart's slim fingers slid in between Kay's buttocks and began pressing around that Kay realised what Stuart had been trying to say earlier.

"Can't do that here," he whispered shakily. They couldn't fuck, though he ached to; it wasn't the exposed location which bothered him so much as the geometry. "I'll blow you," he offered.

As he sank to his knees, though, he realised that they could have gone for hand-jobs instead and the realisation made him groan with frustration. They could have re-enacted their first encounter. That would have been unbelievably hot.

He sucked down Stuart's cock and worked himself with his other hand. It didn't take long. After they had both climaxed, they indulged themselves with a long, lazy, deep kiss. Finally they separated and adjusted their clothing.

"Friday night, yeah?" Stuart asked.

"I'm working until nine. Shouldn't you be out getting pissed with the other students on a Friday night?"

"Too young to drink, remember?" Stuart flashed him a cheeky smile.

"What if you pull at the _Royal Crown_ the night before? You could still be shagging by then."

A hurt look crossed Stuart's face. " _You_ might," he said quietly.

"Might. We're not exclusive. I don't do boyfriends."

"I know, I know."

Stuart turned away from him so Kay couldn't see his sulky expression, but he conveyed a whole tantrum in the swing of his bag onto his shoulder.

"We could go to a restaurant or something," Kay offered to soothe the hurt away.

"Nine o'clock?"

"That too late?"

"No. Where?" Stuart sounded cautious. He still had his back to Kay.

"What about that Mexican place opposite the shoe shops?"

"Uh huh." Stuart nodded, twisted his head round. "Friday? Nine o'clock?" he checked again.

"Or thereabouts. They've got a bar, you can sit in there and wait if I'm a bit late."

"Don't be late."

 

}0{

Kay had a change of shirt hanging up in his locker. He was watching the clock, wondering how early he could reasonably go down and change into it. They'd been interviewing a teenage bike thief all afternoon. She'd been in trouble before, but this time she was old enough for the record of the arrest to be permanent. The rest of her life. She'd been caught with two marked bikes, trying to sell them on to a small-time dealer who was being questioned in the next room. She kept saying that they couldn't prove anything; she was wrong.

He'd nearly finished typing it all up and the clock hand was close to the twelve. He'd been to the _Royal Crown_ for one pint the night before. Stuart hadn't been there. Not that he'd been looking. A couple of men had approached him, but they hadn't been his type. Not quite. Not that his type had narrowed to tall, blond Scottish seventeen year-olds or anything.

Three more minutes; two more sentences. The phone rang.

"Kay, it's Naz."

"I'm off work in a couple of minutes."

"Matt Campbell just got himself arrested."

"Shit!" Kay was standing up, replacing the phone, only just caught Naz telling him which shop he needed to get to.

Dennis was just ahead of him, running heavily across the car park. They met at the red Corsa. He filled Kay in on the details as they drove out to the shopping centre. Apparently Campbell had been caught nicking nail files and the store detective had told him to put them back and no more would be said. As soon as she'd turned her back, Campbell had picked up a can of coloured hairspray and started decorating the wall in it with obscene language.

The office was bare, but a lot cleaner than the one at _The Scarlet Panther_. The security guard and the store manager stood with their backs to the door, looking down at Campbell who occupied the only chair. He looked more pale, more ill than the last time Kay had seen him. He wondered again if it _was_ drugs. But then the stripper shifted, stretching out those perfect legs, and fixed him with a dazzling, delighted smile full of healthy teeth and Kay wasn't sure of anything any more.

The manager was puzzled when they showed their warrant cards.

"They usually send uniform," he said.

"We can't discuss that." Dennis made himself look unapproachable, immovable. They were left alone with Campbell.

"What was that about then, Matt?" Kay asked.

Matt lifted languid shoulders. He pouted a little.

"Don't bother." Kay shook his head. He busied himself with getting out his notebook.

"We'll have to take you down the station," Dennis said.

"Really?" Kay asked.

"Shoplifting _and_ vandalism?"

"I suppose so." Kay looked at Campbell. "You're going to explain yourself when we get there?"

"Might do," said the stripper, getting to his feet.

}0{

He kept them talking in the car, about _The Scarlet Panther_ and the bastards who ran it. It was interesting stuff but as it was all off the record it was no use to them. As soon as they got him into an interview room with a tape recorder and a solicitor, he clammed up.

"Tell us why you wrote the rude words on the wall of the supermarket, Mr Campbell," Dennis demanded.

"Come on, we haven't got all night," Kay added.

That was when he remembered; he was supposed to be somewhere. He couldn't break off in the middle of an interview to text his date and tell him he was going to be late. He was forty minutes late now. His phone was on, he was surprised Stuart hadn't called him.

He tried to drag his attention back to the case. How long would Stuart wait for him? He'd told Kay not to be late. He was very late.

He tried ringing Stuart's mobile phone as soon as he got out of the room, as he was walking up to the office to sort out the preliminary paperwork. It was switched off. Campbell was denying the graffiti now, which was stupid of him; he wouldn't use his phone call or even attempt to sort out any bail. They had to organise him a cell before Kay could leave the station. When he did, he drove round to the Mexican on his way home, but it was closing and there was nobody in the bar.

He climbed miserably into bed, still expecting a text or a call, staring at the screen of his phone, at where the little yellow envelope should have been.

Stuart had given up on him. He'd told Kay not to be late; Kay had stood him up. When he woke up still clutching the phone, Kay realised: he'd been dumped. Except that they hadn't been in a relationship. Kay had kept telling Stuart that he didn't do boyfriends, couldn't cope with commitment, and then he'd stood Stuart up and Stuart had given up on him. And he deserved it.

}0{

"You know what you need?" Yussuf asked, sitting down next to Kay in the canteen.

"Is it God?" Kay growled back. He lifted his coffee cup up to his nose and tried to stare into it, but it was too close, out of focus.

"Well, yes, of course." Yussuf made a dismissive gesture. "But you have other problems and I can help you to solve them."

"I've got no problems."

"You're miserable. All weekend you've been miserable and now it is Sunday lunchtime and I am going to tell you how to be happy."

"I'm just pissed off about having to work a weekend."

"Last weekend you worked and you were smiling. For weeks you have been smiling. Now you're sad. Do you want to tell me what has made you happy then sad?"

"No. Fuck off and leave me alone."

"How old are you, Kay Devizes?"

"Mind your own business."

"You are not a young man any more. All this partying and fun and games and late nights, they might be fun when you're young, but you are nearly thirty now --"

"No, I'm bloody not! Mid twenties!"

"Late twenties. At your age you need something else to make your life good."

"That would be Allah, would it?"

"Of course, but I am not talking about religion now. Your body is ready to have babies. It's time to settle down with a kind young woman, have a family, have a real life."

"Never going to happen."

"Why not? You need somebody who will stay with you, live with you, look after you. Maybe not the babies, what do I know?"

"Fuck all mostly, Yussuf." Kay gulped down his coffee. He could feel a headache coming on. "Look, mate, I'm not like you. You love all that stuff, being engaged and that, and I can see that you'll be a good husband."

"We're not talking about me."

"You looking forward to married life, then? What's she like?"

"Stop changing the subject. She's wonderful: beautiful and really good company. Funny. She cooks. That's not the point."

"I don't like girls. Not like that."

Yussuf sighed. "Allah forgive me. So settle down with a nice boy, then. You're not happy how you are."

"Yes I am. I'm independent. I don't need anybody and I don't want anybody relying on me. I've always been alone; it suits me."

Yussuf settled back and looked into Kay's face. "Nobody is really alone."

"Other people have families and their expectations and they're used to that. I never had anything but a series of Children's Homes when I was growing up. All the other kids were white and they didn't know what to make of me. I'm comfortable with being a lone unit. An island. I wouldn't know how to do that couple thing. You've got to take someone else into account all the time. I'd hate it."

"You think you're a lone unit? Lone ranger? Maverick?" Yussuf's lips twitched to suppress a smile.

"I bloody am! I've got no ties to anything!"

"Not to us? The police?"

"It's just a job."

"It's a team. We are your family."

}0{

The kettle was on and the bread was in the toaster when the doorbell rang. Kay pulled on a pair of trackie bottoms to make the T-shirt and boxers he'd slept in decent. The bell rang again. And once more as he crossed the tiny lounge. The knocking had just begun when he made it to the door. What could be that bloody urgent on his day off?

Matt Campbell - of all people - was in the hallway. He looked flustered and sweaty, but somehow it wasn't hot. That was the least of Kay's concerns.

"What the fuck are you doing --?"

"Is he here?"

"Who? What? Where'd you get my address?"

"Phone book." Matt pushed his way into the flat, looking around, heading for the kitchenette where the kettle was building up some steam. He was lying – Kay was ex-directory. "He here?" he asked again.

"Who?"

"Stuart." The stripper marched straight into Kay's bedroom.

"What? No! How do you know about --?"

"He's not at the Uni, his mates haven't seen him of a couple of days. When d'you last hear from him?"

"Friday night. When you got yourself arrested." He was confused and furious, but there was a cold fear building in his belly, too. "How do you know him? What's going on? What do you know about me and Stuart?"

"Well, he told me about you. Not your name or anything, but I didn't reckon there'd be too many paki poof pigs in a town this size."

Kay decided to ignore the casual insults to his race, profession and sexual orientation. He focussed. "You know Stuart?"

"He's my cousin. That's why he's at Uni here, why I moved out from the city. I'm s'posed to keep an eye on him. The only queers in the family, you know?"

"Cousin?" His belly dropped. He'd been set up. They were cousins?

"I know where he is then," Matt said. He was holding himself together but he was clearly terrified.

"When was he last seen?"

"Friday night, all dressed up and going out. They must have grabbed him then."

"Who must? How come you're not Scottish?"

"Me Dad moved down. Long story, wrong time. I know where he is. You got a car?"

"Yeah." He found himself picking up his car keys against his better judgement. The fear was contagious. "Who's got him?"

"The mob who did my boss in and set me up. Haven't got time. In the car!"

Kay couldn't tell if he was just picking up Campbell's panic, or if he really was scared out of his wits.

}0{

"Address?" Kay demanded as they drove off. He had his hand over the sat nav.

"There isn't one."

"What?"

"Untraceable. I'll give you the directions."

"I need to phone this in, get back-up."

Matt was shaking. "Oh God, yeah. Yeah, you do." He took a few deep breaths, then: "Left at the lights, we're heading out towards the coast road." Then. "They're really scary bastards, you need to get back-up."

Kay got the station on the hands-free.

"Kay?" Yussuf sounded surprised.

"Emergency, Yussuf, listen." He didn't know how to explain this. "I think we've got an abduction relating to the murder."

"You got Dennis there with you?"

"He not with you?" _It doesn't matter,_ he thought, and he was trying to focus, but he was trying not to think about it, too. "I'm with an informant. The abductors are armed. I need some back-up."

"Address?" He was taking it seriously? Kay's stomach lurched; this might actually be happening, then. He took a deep breath. "Haven't got one. I'm handing you over to the informant," and former suspect and stripper and Stuart's cousin, "for a description."

Matt barked out directions simultaneously into the phone and for Kay's benefit until they reached a long, building-less road between tall trees.

"Where exactly are we heading for?" Kay asked him.

Matt paused briefly, chewing his lower lip. "I thought I was clever," he said. "I was sick of getting touched up and beaten up and having the management turning a blind eye. I used to do bits of courier work for them, a little low level dealing and moving stuff around. I didn't think I was getting paid enough. There's a bridge coming up, it's only wide enough for one car, but you're alright, there's nothing coming. See there's this rival gang. So I approached them. Which was stupid. It's their place we're heading for."

Kay thought he knew who Matt was talking about. They were vicious bastards.

"They seemed ok at first," Matt said. "I started shifting gear their way, getting a nice cut. Of course when it came to it and they decided to ... you know ... my boss ... Cattle grid up here somewhere, you'll need to slow down for that. I'll tell you as soon as I see it. Anyway, I was in the right place and I was expendable."

They drove in silence for a while, then Matt shouted out "Cattle grid!" He pointed. "There's a low concrete building, greyish, hard to see. It's behind those trees ahead on the right. That's where they are. I was meant to do the time, keep my mouth shut."

"Stay in the car!" Kay snapped. "Duck down."

His stomach clenched and fluttered. He let the adrenaline take him over, concentrating on the police operation to stop his imagination roaming over what might be happening to Stuart inside that building.

}0{

There was a moment - just one split second – of doubt as Kay raised his stick beside the glass. He'd called in a team to break in without a warrant on the information of a suspect: a suspect who was a stripper and a drug dealer at that. He swung down through the glass. Glittering shards flew everywhere and the crash and tinkle he'd caused was echoed and foreshadowed and repeated all round the building as other entry points were breached by other police officers.

He climbed in, batting his way past a lowered roman blind and immediately all of his doubts disappeared. It was all wrapped tight in clear plastic, but he could smell it: a heady mix of intoxicants in a closed room. There were stacked blocks of white and brown and golden highs stacked against the wall, sacks of blue diamond-shaped pills neatly in the centre of the floor. He sprinted for the thick door.

As soon as it was open he heard all the other boots which matched his own, running their tattoos through the building. Somewhere a shot was fired. He kept running, opening doors, checking round corners, trying to stay systematic and safe. He couldn't think about Stuart. Dogs started to bark.

It was a strange mixture of smart offices and austere storerooms: more drugs, weapons, DVDs, designer goods.

Suddenly, behind him, there was a shout, and every copper in the place headed towards it.

Kay made it to the stinking room too late to grab one of the villains and slam him against the wall; he arrived as they were already being cuffed. The Armed Response boys (and one girl) had their weapons trained on the three muscled thugs and the two old guys in suits.

A WPC he only knew by sight went into the corner to the man who was lying there. Trembling, Kay watched as she snipped the tag-ties which bound and cut into Stuart's bruised, naked flesh. His breathing was shallow. In spite of the cold, concrete floor beneath him, his body was covered in sweat. There was some dried blood. At first, he didn't look up, but when he did, he saw Kay in the doorway and fixed him with a glare of loathing.

All Kay could hear was his own heart beating.

Then one of the thugs broke free and tried to make a run for it, pushing Kay out of the way. Kay's training kicked in and he lurched after the man, tackling him in a side corridor, reciting his rights to him and securing him. He called for help and Nazrin appeared, looking shocked. Between them they dragged the thug back into the main room.

They were just in time to see Stuart being eased onto a stretcher by paramedics. He was given an injection and fairly soon after that he stopped whimpering. Then the paramedics carried him out to the ambulance.

}0{

Kay felt like he had spent days waiting in the hospital corridor drinking grey coffee from a machine. It had probably only been hours. With his brain only half functioning, he'd processed paperwork at the station, worrying all the time that Stuart would wake up on his own and in pain. When he made it to the hospital, however, Stuart was still under sedation.

"Are you family?" the nurse had asked doubtfully.

Kay thought about lying, but he didn't look like family, did he?

"I'm afraid it's family only at this stage," she said firmly. "His cousin's in with him now."

When he was finally allowed to go onto the ward, behind the faded orange stripes of the curtains around the bed, Matt was sitting in a red plastic chair, holding a clear beaker against his cousin's lips. Stuart gulped awkwardly at the water, his eyes moving repeatedly from Matt to Kay. Blinking heavily, Stuart pushed the empty cup away.

"What did they do to you?" Matt asked.

Stuart shook his head decisively. He glowered at Kay who stood awkwardly watching the two blonds. "Because of your fucking job," he snarled in a croaky voice. Kay felt sick.

"No." Matt said softly. "It's down to me, Stu'."

"I was there for days," Stuart mumbled. "Nobody came."

Kay whispered desperately, "I didn't know!"

Stuart looked confused.

Matt explained: "They never told anyone they had you. They didn't need to. When I couldn't find you I knew. Don't blame him, Stu'."

"It's his case." Stuart closed his eyes and swallowed.

"I bet they don't even know you're his boyfriend. Seriously. I've been ..." Matt got up and looked through the gap between the curtain and the wall, checking on the other occupants of the ward. He sat back down, spoke as quietly as he could. "I got in too deep. They only needed to watch me, check out my visitors. Easy enough to find out we've got the same surname, make the link."

All Kay had needed to do had been to ask Stuart's full name. If he had known that he was a Campbell, too, he might have made the connection. It felt inconceivable now that he had never known it. He'd been too scared of getting too close.

Stuart looked at Kay, his expression shifting uncertainly. "I was thinking ..." he said. He frowned.

Kay's voice broke as he said, "I should have chased, didn't know you'd gone, thought you'd dumped me. I deserved it, for standing you up. Didn't know." He sniffed. "Missed you." He took a few steps towards the bed.

"That's where they got me," Stuart said, "waiting in the bar at the Mexican when you stood me up. Grabbed me when I went for a piss." He lifted a shaking hand towards Kay and Kay managed the last few steps towards the bed. He stood opposite Matt, with Stuart's broken body laid out between them. He took hold of that small, slim, pale hand. "Where were you?" Stuart asked.

"I was about to leave the station, but they called me back in. Matt got himself arrested. It was too quick, I don't know. By the time I had a chance to phone you – I thought you didn't answer 'cos it was me ..."

Stuart turned his head to give Matt an accusing glare.

Matt shrugged. "Your boyfriend insisted on releasing me on the murder charge!"

"Because you couldn't have done it!"

"I'd confessed!"

"That wasn't enough to hold you on!"

"I needed to be somewhere safe. I was trying to keep away from those bastards, they wanted to kill me; I had to get arrested again!"

Stuart sucked in a sharp breath.

Kay looked into Stuart's eyes. "Where does it hurt?"

"Everything hurts," Stuart whispered.

Matt's eyes shone wet. "I'm so sorry, Stu'. Really." He stood sharply and backed away. "I should have let them catch me and kill me," he said. "Then they wouldn't have come looking for you." He pushed out through the curtains, into the ward and they heard his footfalls as he ran away.

"Is he safe?" Stuart asked.

Kay shrugged. "If we managed to arrest everyone."

He moved round to sit in the chair Matt had left, and poured out more water. "Drink?"

Stuart nodded. Kay eased a hand behind his neck to support him as he sipped. The skin against his palm was soft and warm. It made Kay want to get the rest of Stuart's body into an embrace, to hold him close; he knew Stuart was still too injured. He lowered Stuart's head back onto the pillow instead and for a few minutes they stayed still and comfortably silent.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, Stuart laughed. It was a slight noise, a glorious noise.

"What are you so happy about?" Kay asked.

Stuart sighed, smiled, then said, "Matt called you my boyfriend, and you didn't correct him."

Kay made a noncommittal "Hmm?" noise.

"Twice!" Stuart replied with all the breath that was in him.

"You like that?"

"Uh huh."

"Ok." Kay lifted Stuart's bruised hand off the blanket and kissed it. "Yeah, I guess I can live with that."

}0{

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> **Bonus content which accompanies this story:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  **Art:** [ Kay and Stuart in the park. NSFW. ](http://wwmrsweasleydo.livejournal.com/89991.html) by
> 
>  **Mix:** [Love's Not a Competition (but I'm winning)](http://wtfbrain.livejournal.com/1366189.html) by


End file.
